


On the Rocks

by alyssa9779



Category: Lost
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyssa9779/pseuds/alyssa9779
Summary: Jack is a mess. That's no secret. Sawyer is also a mess. Which he'd like to think is a secret.Secrets inevitably come to light, that's what they do.Can these messes bond over that shared trait? Or will it just push them further apart?Or maybe both?
Relationships: James "Sawyer" Ford/Jack Shephard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Whiskey and Man Tears

All of a sudden, just like that, he can’t take it anymore. He’s been so strong for so long. It starts small, a tremor in his hand. It eventually graduates to heavy breathing, bordering on hyperventilating. He makes a break for it, into the jungle. So nobody has to see him like this. 

Logically? Jack knows what’s happening. Panic attack. All of the symptoms are there. Before he knows it, he’s shaking and gasping for air, despite the voice of reason in his head screaming to him that he’s okay, he doesn’t feel like it. Oxygen. He’s not getting enough oxygen. Jesus, where did all of the oxygen go? Claire. Goddamnit, where did Claire go?? Great, now he’s spiraling even further. He should’ve listened to her, he should’ve checked the area more thoroughly for her attacker, he should’ve fucking believed her, oh god. 

When Sawyer comes upon him, he’s slowly rocking back and forth, tears streaming down his face. Most of Sawyer wants to just walk away, pretend like he never saw their fearless leader so vulnerable. But a little part of his mind is urging him to help. He doesn’t know how he’d help. But that little piece of him doesn’t care. Just as he turns to leave, he hears a small whimper. 

“Goddamnit,” Sawyer mutters inaudibly, as he knows resistance is now futile. He takes a deep breath and creeps towards Jack, no idea what he’s going to say, but trying to make a bit of noise so he doesn’t startle the man too badly. He steps on a twig and it breaks. Jack’s head shoots up, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Hah, remember headlights? Sawyer thinks to himself. Jack stands up and takes a few steps back, cautiously. He halfheartedly swipes at his cheeks to rid himself of the offensive tears and tries to clear his throat. 

“Whoa there, Doc. I ain’t gonna hurt you,” Sawyer says, testing the waters. As if trying to tame a horse.

“I know, Sawyer,” Jack deadpans, still a mess but doing everything he can to hide it. He knows it's pointless, Sawyer already saw him, but he’d like to hold onto the small shred of dignity he has left, thank you very much. “What do you want?” he says, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t want nothing, just taking a stroll on this very nice evening and I happened to come across you having a merry old time on that log right there,” Sawyer says and Jack snorts. Sawyer’s lip turns up at the sound, okay, right direction. Jack is relieved he isn’t using this against him. Yet. 

“Yeah, well. Life. You know?” Jack says, also testing these new waters. Waters of potential understanding? He wonders if he’s reading into it too much. Maybe. 

“Oh, I definitely know. It’s shit, ain’t it?” Sawyer grumbles, moving closer to sit down on the log Jack was just on. Once he’s seated, he pats the spot next to him. An invitation. Jack eyes him skeptically, but Sawyer just shrugs.  
“Yeah. Yeah, it really is,” Jack mumbles as he gives in and collapses next to the other man, their legs practically touching. 

“Well. You wanna talk about it, Hero?” Sawyer says, ignoring the look Jack shoots him, as if he’s grown a second head.

“Not really,” Jack chokes out, placing his head back in his hands again. Giving up on decency. Sawyer doesn’t feel like a threat right now. Which is odd, but quite frankly, Jack is too tired to give a damn. 

“The way I see it, is that clearly everybody sees the doctor, a goddamn knight in shining armor, and forget there’s a person underneath that armor. You never asked for this, so when it comes down to it, this ain’t on you,” Sawyer says. Jack snorts again, this time it’s laced with cynicism. 

“Yeah, that sounds like you, Sawyer. Forgoing responsibility at every possible turn,” 

“Hey, well you ain’t gotta be rude,” Sawyer says and smiles when the doctor grins. “I’m just saying, none of this is on you. Claire? I’m assuming that’s what you’re so upset about. Claire disappearing ain’t on you,” at this, Jack finally meets Sawyer's eye. 

“Claire didn’t ‘disappear,’ she was taken. And if I would’ve listened to her,” Jack chokes on his words. He takes a breath and tries again. “If I would’ve listened to her. Done something. She would still be here,”

“Maybe. Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t. Do you think whoever took her would’ve stopped if you had been there? Nah, they just would’ve taken you too and we’d be down one of the most valuable members of our boy scout troop,” Jack is silent. He slowly contemplates what Sawyer had just said, rendered, for once, speechless. Before he knows it, those cogs are turning again and he keeps coming back to the same point. 

“But if I had just,” Sawyer cuts him off.

“No ifs, Doc. What’s done is done. And I can try and help you find her if you’d like, but no amount of blaming yourself is gonna bring that girl back. So I’d suggest you be a little kinder to yourself and stop moping, it’s bringing down the ‘tropical getaway’ mood,” 

“Oh, is that what this is? Hadn’t noticed, been too distracted by all of the death,”

“See, that’s the problem with you. You’re too focused on the negatives,” Sawyer says as he goes to his pocket and pulls out a small shot sized bottle of whiskey and cracks it open. 

“Do tell how the fuck I’m supposed to focus on the positives. What positives?” Jack asks, exasperated.  
“Well, let’s start with this,” Sawyer says as he pulls the bottle to his lips and downs a little less than half of the amber liquid inside. “That’s pretty positive to me,”

“Oh, shut up,” Jack says as he grabs the bottle from Sawyer's hands and downs the rest. 

“That’s the spirit!” Sawyer laughs and pats Jack on the back. He gives the man one last look as he gets ready to stand up to go, but he’s halted by the look in Jack’s eyes. 

“I,” Jack cuts off, he stares at Sawyer for a second before looking back to the ground, “I just don’t understand why you stopped. You could’ve kept walking,” he laughs, but it’s coated in that infamous cynicism everyone has been embracing as of late, “You should’ve kept walking, I’m sorry, I’m just…” he cuts off again and puts his head back in his hands. He’s no longer shaking, but he’s twitchy. 

“I don’t know, man. But you’re driving yourself crazy, and I don’t think anybody would fare too well without you here. So you gotta…” Sawyer tapers off as he looks at the mess of a man in front of him and his heart softens just a bit, “You gotta take care of yourself, Jack,” he leaves the man with that and stands up to go. He looks down at him, his head still in his hands, and he doesn’t know what comes over him but he gets the urge to ruffle his hair. He pushes the feeling down and walks away. 

Jack looks over and sees Sawyer’s figure fading into the jungle. He sighs and attempts to pull himself together. 

“Thank you,” he says, under his breath, knowing Sawyer can’t hear him. He’s puzzled by the entire interaction, but somewhat grateful, if not a little suspicious. That was weird. Like. Objectively weird. Sawyer isn’t. He doesn’t. He shuts his mind up with one final thought. But he did. Sawyer did. 

He fumbles with the empty bottle of booze, picking at the label, before shoving in his pocket, collecting himself one last time, and making the trek back to the campsite.


	2. Catch a Falling Star

It’s been a week or so since Jack crumbled under the weight, but he picked himself up, but on a brave face, and walked back to the caves. As if nothing ever happened. As if Sawyer hadn’t… done whatever it was Sawyer had done. He hadn’t seen the man since. Not a peep out of him. Nothing about him either, which is good. But again, rather suspicious. By now, there’d normally be someone coming to him complaining about Sawyer hoarding all of the sunscreen or pills or books or guns or. Well. Anything and everything. But there’s been nothing. Radio silence. 

Claire was still gone. So Jack decided to do what he could and had taken up doing nightly rounds around the beach and the caves. And morning rounds. And midday rounds. And afternoon rounds. And well, just a lot of damn rounds. Whether he thought it was his fault or not didn’t matter if he wasn’t actively doing something to protect his people. He had to be doing something or his mind would drift to places he didn’t like it being. Places that encouraged more of those embarrassing breakdowns Sawyer had witnessed the other day. 

Speaking of Sawyer, where is he? Jack assumed he was back at his tent, that’s where he always was. But that protective instinct of his was kicking in, it applied to everyone on the island, so he wasn’t shocked when he began to worry about the gruff, blonde asshole. 

He stops his task at hand, reorganizing the medicine cabinet for the hundredth time, and decides to go on another round. He checks to make sure his gun is secure in his waistband and starts the hike to the beach. 

Along the way, he gets lost in his thoughts. Thoughts about the island, about life back in the real world, the possibility of being rescued, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t stop his damn head from circling back around to Sawyer every single time. How gentle he was yesterday when Jack was particularly fragile. He knows damn well that Sawyer could’ve used that as a blackmail opportunity for the rest of their lives, but he didn’t. Sawyer… comforted him? He took care of him, when Jack refused to take care of himself. Once again, he’s aware he might be reading too far into this. But he’s processing the situation, all of it, the best he knows how.

Jack finally reaches the beach and it’s almost serene. The way the setting sun explodes across the sky, creating purples and pinks and oranges that dance, interweaving, as far as the eye can see. And when the moon takes over, any minute now, it’ll be just as beautiful. Haunting, almost. If in any other circumstances, he were here, he’d enjoy himself. It really is beautiful. He takes a moment to breathe it all in. 

His moment is abruptly interrupted by a commotion over by Sawyer’s tent. He can’t quite make it out, but it’s not exactly yelling, it doesn’t sound like an argument. Jack slowly makes his way over, making note of how nobody seems surprised by the noise. 

It’s only when he’s a few yards away that he realizes what’s happening. Sawyer is mumbling in his sleep, he must be dreaming, and from what he can hear, it doesn’t sound like a nice one. Every few seconds, his repetition of the word “no” is cut in with a whimper. 

Jack is finally at Sawyer’s tent. And is beyond conflicted on what to do. He can’t just leave the poor man there, suffering. But every single way he plays out a confrontation in his head, it doesn’t end well. Is there a way to comfort the man without waking him up? Doubtful. He knows that’d be the only way to keep Sawyer’s pride intact. 

He carefully pulls the tarp off the tent to the side to reveal the man practically thrashing inside. Sawyer’s coated in a thick layer of sweat, beading down his forehead still. Jack feels his heart drop and he doesn’t even really know why. He’s had his fill of nightmares on the island, but seeing this proud man stripped of his bravado must be getting to him because he’s filled with the overwhelming urge to go inside and wipe his tears, are those tears? They might be sweat, who knows. But he’s filled with the overwhelming urge to go in and just make Sawyer feel better, to take away all of the pain. 

“No, no, no, please no, I’m sorry,” Sawyer mutters, his voice still gruff, but his face looks so young. With that, Jack has made his decision. 

He doesn’t know how to go about this without looking like a creep, if he were to go in and stroke Sawyer’s hair and whisper sweet nothings until he falls peacefully asleep like some goddamn romance novel and he were to wake up? There’d be no explaining his way out of that. 

Jack takes a minute to think about what would ease him back to sleep during a nightmare and he makes his decision. After putting the front flap of the tarp up, so he could look in and see Sawyer’s reaction to what he’s about to do, he sits down quietly. 

He swallows his pride and slowly begins to sing. It’s a lullaby his mother would sing to him when he was little, Catch a Falling Star. He goes through it a few times, resisting the urge to move in closer, but eventually Sawyer quiets, grumbles something unintelligible, and falls back into a relatively peaceful slumber. 

Jack smiles to nobody and it finally feels like he can breathe out. So he does. And quietly, ever so quietly, stands up to close the flap and leave Sawyer to, hopefully, enjoy the rest of his night. 

As he’s grabbing the tarp to let it down, it catches on one of the bamboo stalks and Sawyer’s structurally unstable shelter comes crashing down. Or at least, the corner closest to Jack. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jack mumbles to himself as he clumsily tries to catch the crumpling tent, but it’s too late. Sawyer is roused to consciousness and extremely confused, he fumbles for his gun lost in his blanket before he sees the bumbling mess that is Jack trying to keep his tent upright. 

“What the fuck,” Sawyer growls, still trying to process the scene playing out before him. He’s on defense mode immediately. 

“I, uh, shit. Sorry,” Jack stammers, once he’s finally got the stalk upright. “I’m just gonna go, I, uh, sorry again,” You know, this situation would be kinda funny if Jack weren’t so embarrassed. He goes to scurry away but is stopped in his tracks by Sawyer’s voice. 

“No, seriously. What the fuck? Were you trying to, what, steal my shit? You were doing a pretty shit job at it. Or no, wreck my tent? My goddamn sanctuary? Is that it? Fuck dude, just leave me alone,” Sawyer says in a huff, throwing his gun to the sand, still staring Jack down, eyes wild. 

“Sawyer, I,” Jack says softly. 

“You what, spit it out already,” Sawyer says. Jack considers lying. Saying he was here to steal Sawyer’s shit almost feels less incriminating than what actually transpired. There’s no way this is going to end well, so he decides he might as well be honest. 

“You were having a nightmare. I couldn’t just do nothing,” 

“The hell you could’ve,” Sawyer spits out, anger and distaste evident in every part of his being. “Mind your own fucking business, Doc,” 

“Alright. Whatever you say, Sawyer. Just,” he takes a minute to ponder this enigma of a man, “Just take care of yourself, alright?” and with that, Jack turns his back on the scene and walks back into the jungle. 

Sawyer is left with nothing but the memory of what happened, and some annoying lullaby stuck in his head.


	3. Life in a Night

It has been a while since Jack and Sawyer had willingly seen each other. Sure, they’d bump into each other once in a while getting food or whenever Jack would need medicine from Sawyer’s stash. But beyond that? They’ve been avoiding each other like hell. Both embarrassed and ashamed, for something neither of them could quite name. 

Sure, Sawyer goes straight to anger, outwardly, at least. But beneath it all, he still can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that Jack saw him so vulnerable. Sawyer knows how he gets whenever he has a nightmare, and it isn’t pretty. But Jack didn’t… laugh at him. He didn’t turn a blind eye when he could’ve, it would’ve been easier. Yeah, sure, Sawyer was an ass, but give a man some warning, would you? 

Sawyer’s where he usually is, in his tent, mismatched glasses perched on his face, reading Animal Farm for the fifth time. 

He knows he’s out of drinking water, he’s been out all day, but he’s waiting until the sun goes down to get more from the caves. He loves confrontation as much as the next guy, but he’s really not in the mood to get yelled at for, whatever it is he’d get yelled at for, today. 

A few hours pass until he’s having difficulty making out the words on the page. He groans, throws his book into his tent and grabs his water canister. Better now than never, he supposes. 

His hike through the jungle is uneventful at best, and when he gets to the caves, he doesn’t pay any attention to how loud he is. He’s convinced himself he doesn’t give a damn about the people trying to sleep. He needs water, so by god, he’s gonna get himself some water. 

Nobody seems to notice, or rather pay attention, to Sawyer’s presence. He smirks at anyone with the gall to meet his eye and decides to walk to one of the further streams, enjoying the subtle attention he’s receiving. 

When he reaches a stream that looks adequate, he crouches down and begins untwirling the canister's lid. He freezes when he hears a ruffling noise in the caves a yard or so away. 

Again, part of Sawyer wants to just leave it and not have to deal with anything else tonight, but his curiosity gets the best of him, no surprise there. 

He lightens his footsteps, not wanting whatever, or whoever is making the noise aware of his presence. 

When he finally reaches the source of the sound, he swears it feels like deja vu. There lies Jack, in a fitful sleep, in a state nearing delirium. Again, all Sawyer wants to do is walk away and pretend like his endless curiosity hasn’t put him in another moral dilemma. Especially after their last run-in, Sawyer is clearly alright with seeing Jack vulnerable, he doesn’t think any less of the man. But Sawyer has a facade to hold up and Jack having seen him broken from that standard rubs him the wrong way. The thought of the doctor having the upper hand in any situation, especially concerning his mental state is not cool with Sawyer. 

But there he lies, stuck in his own head, tossing and turning as if it’ll make whatever hellscapes he’s dreaming of dissipate. But it won’t. Sawyer knows it won’t, he’s been down that road too many times to count. He’ll wake up in a cold sweat, turn back over, and slip back into the same nightmare. It’s a cycle Sawyer doesn’t know how to break, and if Sawyer can’t break it, he’s damn sure Jack can’t either. 

He stares at Jack for a few more minutes before deciding on a course of action, he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the bead of sweat rolling down Jack’s wrinkled forehead, or how his hands are grasping at his blankets for dear life, or the tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. He’s a mess, and Sawyer still doesn’t like it. He doesn’t deserve to go through this. Sawyer would gladly take the nightmares from Jack if he could, not that he’d ever let the other man know that. 

Sawyer swallows the lump in his throat and slowly makes his way through the entrance of the cave. No use in trying to be sneaky, he decides, his hypocrisy hitting him in the chest like a freight train. He feels bad for exploding at the man earlier, especially seeing him like this right now, he clearly had no ill will. But Sawyer knows he has things he needs to work through on his own and the kindness he had been shown was too much for him to process that night. 

He maneuvers his way to the back of the cave, so Jack and the entrance are in front of him, and slowly slides down the uneven wall, settling in an uncomfortable position. Before he can get caught in his own head again, Jack lets out a high-pitched groan and shuffles under his blanket. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Sawyer mumbles, unable to control his hand as it shoots out to slowly stroke Jack’s ruffled hair back into position. He’s also unable to control the flutter in his chest as Jack clearly leans into Sawyer’s touch, letting out another small noise, less pained now. “That’s it, Doc, back into dreamland, there you go,” he smiles as Jack’s face evens out, hand still glued to his head, slowly caressing his hair with tiny movements of his fingers. 

Sawyer’s heart stops as Jack’s eyes slowly flutter open. Busted. His heart slowly starts pumping again when he sees the soft smile growing on his face. 

“Hey,” Jack mutters as if this were any other day. As if he hadn’t just caught Sawyer in this compromising position. Sawyer clears his throat.

“Uh, hey. Nightmare,” He says as if that’ll explain everything away.

“I figured,” Jack says, turning over to face the man in his tent, subconsciously nuzzling his forehead into his hand. Sawyer swears Jack can hear his heartbeat thumping out of his chest. “Stop thinking so loud, asshole, get down here,” he throws his covers open, expectantly. Sawyer’s mouth goes dry, head clouded with a million emotions he had been ignoring for so long. It’s not until Jack is practically pulling Sawyer into his embrace that he finally gives in. 

“Alright Doc, whatever you say,” he mutters, his voice coated with gravel. 

Sawyer doesn’t know what to do, he’s completely frozen, unused to showing or receiving affection, human touch as a whole has almost turned into uncharted territory again. At least touch without the expectation of eventual monetary gain in return. 

“Thank you, Sawyer,” Jack mumbles, breathily, tucking his head over Sawyer’s. He can practically feel Sawyer’s hesitation as he slowly snakes his arm around Jack’s midsection. 

“Yeah, yeah, I gotcha, Doc,” his breath warm on Jack’s neck. 

“You can call me Jack, you know,” he says as he reaches his arm around his back, resting his hand on the dip in Sawyer’s lower back. He can hear the man’s breath catch, grinning into his matted golden hair. 

“Can I?” 

“Please. And you can also learn how to accept the kindness you give, no matter how much you want to deny that’s what this is,” 

“Oh shut up, Jack,” Sawyer says, and the name feels sweet on his tongue as if it wasn’t meant for him. But it is. Jack has made that abundantly clear, considering he’s practically cuddled up to the man. He feels his hair blown at the snort Jack lets out above him. It’s weird, Sawyer thinks, being accepted. That’s what this is, right? 

“Goodnight, Sawyer,” Jack says, sleep dragging him down into its grasp, but never once letting go of the man in his arms. The monumentality of this moment didn’t pass Jack by, he knew that this was big for Sawyer. Hell, it was big for Jack, too. But he decided it was about time they stopped tip-toeing around each other. If there’s anything he’s learned from the past few months, it's that life is short. Short and precious. And he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he had to watch another opportunity fly by. 

So he doesn’t. 

And he doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat as long as Sawyer is by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that took longer than expected. Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever actually planned out! Milestone!   
> I hope to have it finished by the end of the week, but let me know if you like what I've got so far!   
> Stay safe out there! <3


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